


Bending Over Backwards Just to Try to See it Clearer

by khasael



Series: Hale and Hearty [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Actually Has Plans for the Future, Derek Feels, Family Dinners, Family Feels, M/M, Pack, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stilinski Family Feels, The Sheriff Has a Surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2027244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dinner with the sheriff. Doesn't sound <i>too</i> traumatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bending Over Backwards Just to Try to See it Clearer

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Groolover for the beta job. I fiddled with it a bit after it left her hands--all remaining mistakes are most certainly mine!

Derek thought he knew what awkward was. He's been in his share of awkward situations before, as a kid, definitely as a teenager, and absolutely since he met Stiles and Scott a little more than two years ago. Scott and Stiles are their own level of awkward, really, and it's made Derek happy he's left high school behind, because there are some things he's missed, yes, but there are a lot of things he most certainly does _not_.

Sitting at the dinner table between Stiles and his dad, however, is also its own level of awkward. But it probably beats the hell out of the elder Stilinski ever walking in on Derek and Stiles, with what their relationship now is.

There's a thought that puts Derek a little off his meal.

Derek is just thinking that yes, this is uncomfortable, but also tolerable, because it really isn't anything too unexpected under the circumstances, when the sheriff cuts himself another bite of steak, spears a piece of steamed broccoli up with it, and says with what seems entirely too casual of a tone, “So, Derek. How exactly are you planning on providing for my college-bound son? Because he _is_ still college-bound, if I'm not mistaken?”

On Derek's right, Stiles makes a choking noise and drops his knife, which Derek manages to snag before it hits the floor, handle fitting easily into his palm. “Dad! Seriously?”

The sheriff makes a face that's more convincing than Peter's usual attempt at innocence, but only just. “What? A father can't ask his son-in-law how he plans to shoulder the responsibility of caring for his husband?” He pauses and his lips quirk upwards just the slightest bit, and Derek's pretty sure that what just went through the sheriff's head is some variation of _well, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say_. 

“You make it sound like I'm some kid who's incapable of taking care of himself,” Stiles grumbles, stabbing at a piece of broccoli with extreme prejudice. “Or this is the Victorian era, and I need a man to provide for me and protect me.” Derek opens his mouth to make some sort of crack about actually _having_ protected Stiles more than a handful of times, but Stiles knows him well enough to know it's coming, raising his hand and pointing his broccoli-laden fork at Derek and gesturing so forcefully the food almost launches itself off the tines. “Don't you even say a word about all the times you've saved my life. Because that's a two-way street, damn it, and you know it.”

Derek snorts and reaches for his glass of juice. “Right.”

“So, is there an answer to this question, or are you using my son's ability to redirect and distract even himself to avoid it?”

Stiles makes a sound that's as indignant as can be, considering his mouth is now full of food, but Derek shoots him a quick look before turning to the sheriff. “I'm not avoiding the question. It's a perfectly logical question for a parent to ask, under these circumstances.” He nudges Stiles's calf under the table when he senses another outburst coming, relieved to notice Stiles's level of frustration immediately slide down a couple of notches. “We've talked about it.” And they have. There have been a lot of words on the subject of the logistics of the whole matter, some of them a lot firmer or better-received than others.

“And?”

“And I'll be moving to Los Angeles with Stiles.” He sees the sheriff's eyebrows go up, sees the next question ready to spill out in order to trip Derek up, but Derek heads it off. “He's too late to apply for student family housing and is already signed up to get a dorm room, but I'll be setting up a place for us to live as soon as he gets to school, and he can officially change that information with the university during the spring semester.” He doesn't state explicitly that Stiles has already been pretty adamant about not actually spending his nights in his assigned bed instead of with Derek. The sheriff can infer that himself, if he knows his son. “I have the money to take care of the bills—mine, his, and ours. He's going to update his financial aid information to reflect our married status.” Stiles will probably lose a grant or two, but John Stilinski won't have to worry about any loans depending on his own credit score or ability to pay, and it's something Derek feels good about, because he knows Stiles and his father both worry about that. He takes a deep breath, and then just says the thing he's been thinking over pretty intensely for the last few days, once he settled into the idea that Stiles wasn't just going to get bored or laugh and dismiss everything as a joke, after all. “And I want to better myself while we're in Los Angeles.”

There's a pause, and Derek can feel both pairs of eyes staring at him. “Meaning...what, exactly?” the sheriff finally asks. 

“I was going to take some classes while Stiles is also in school. And get a job.” He lets himself look at Stiles now, sees the slightly confused, curious look on his face, and knows that he's going to have to answer even more questions later, because he's springing this on Stiles, too.

“Classes? You haven't gone to college?” The sheriff's eyes are somewhere between pitying and skeptical, but Derek can't even put words to the rest of his facial expression.

“No, I have a degree,” Derek says, and the snort the sheriff lets out shows him exactly which parent Stiles got _that_ particular reaction from. “I went to school out in New York.” He shrugs. “But I went mostly because my sister thought it would be a good idea, and not because I wanted to get anything out of it.” He tries to figure out how to explain his reasoning without sounding stupid or pathetic or something else either Stiles or his father won't be pleased about. “I thought it might be a good experience to take a few classes in things I'd actually care about. With there being a bonus of it keeping me busy, and being able to empathize with Stiles while he spends time doing homework and studying.”

That, at least, makes the sheriff's face do something that's at first skeptical instead of pitying, like he's putting Derek's comments through a bullshit-detector. It must pass, though, because he ends up settling with a look that's more than a bit satisfied. “That's not a bad idea.” He looks down at his plate for a moment, then back up at Derek. “What was your degree in, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Kinesiology.” At the blank look he gets, Derek clears his throat. “The scientific study of human movement? Basically, physiology,” It's weird, Derek thinks, to be having this conversation. He doesn't know Sheriff Stilinski well at all. Hasn't spent a hell of a lot of time with the man, outside of the few times he's been into the station, or trying to give a few vital updates at crime scenes before dozens of deputies or other cops show up and swarm the place. But this is already more than a lot of people know about him, on a basic-facts level—even people he spends a proportionately large amount of time with. 

For fuck's sake, the rest of the pack, save Peter and Cora, is clueless to the fact that he ever even went to college, let alone graduated with a degree that's science-based. And even they never knew Derek as a student. Cora was in South America, thought dead, and Peter was catatonic during that phase of Derek's life. Stiles only knows because he actually asked, back when he was freaking out about admission essays and standardized tests and letters of recommendation. 

Derek steadfastly refused to show him his old student ID or actual degree as proof, claiming it had been lost or left somewhere back in New York. Maybe he'll show him, after all.

Or maybe not, he thinks, when he remembers his haircut in the photo ID.

The sheriff just hums the sort of hum of someone who doesn't know much about the field of study and nods, figuring it's respectable enough. He doesn't badger Derek about his GPA (he'd done well enough to graduate, and had done pretty damn well in a few classes in particular, but had hardly been a straight-A student), what he'd planned on doing with that degree (getting his sister off his back; otherwise, not much, as he'd given only passing thought to trying to find work as a personal trainer), or anything else along those lines. He doesn't even turn to the other area of questioning that Derek's expecting, hounding him about what sort of job Derek plans to get. It seems just being assured that Stiles will be taken care of, that Derek won't be a hindrance to Stiles's education, is good enough for the moment. Or perhaps he knows enough about Derek's past to know how Derek has enough money to pay for things like his car and his loft, and just doesn't need to rehash those details. Or hell, maybe he's already asked Stiles, or Stiles just told him.

There's not a lot of chatting for the next few minutes, but Derek's pretty sure they're not getting off this easily. Stiles seems to know it, too, because he keeps darting glances at his father, like he's just waiting for some sort of ambush. The sheriff, however, mostly just looks pleased that he's having a huge steak for dinner, and that Derek made Stiles promise at the grocery store not to harass his dad about his eating habits for this one night. 

They definitely don't get off easily.

They're sitting around the table with the ice cream Stiles and Derek brought back from the store along with the steaks and other things they needed for dinner, and Derek knows _something_ is about to be dropped on them when the sheriff leans back in his chair and looks at them both for a moment, before raising his eyebrows in a way Derek is coming to recognize.

“Melissa and Lydia will be planning your wedding.”

Derek doesn't choke on his dessert, but only because he sensed some sort of bombshell waiting to be dropped. Stiles, however, gasps, which is an unfortunate thing to do when he's also eating, because he hasn't managed to develop the ability to breathe food. Derek reaches over and thumps Stiles lightly on the back a couple of times in an attempt to get him to stop coughing and spluttering, and he doesn't make a joke about having to save Stiles, because the news is starting to sink in.

“They're...planning our wedding?” Derek repeats, trying not to think about how traumatizing it might be to have these two women plan a major event in his life. Yes, they're already technically married, but this is still putting Melissa McCall—and worse, Lydia Martin—in charge of what amounts to something that is supposed to be equal parts romance and party. 

“Oh God, we're screwed,” Stiles wheezes, which is pretty much what Derek's thinking. He looks at his father, eyes still watering. “Why? Why would you do that to us? Intimidating Derek is one thing, he can defend himself, but this is a new level of cruel.”

The sheriff shakes his head. “You're going to deny two of the most important women in your life the opportunity to help organize one of the most joyous days in your entire existence?” he asks, and he's not even making an _effort_ to hide the glee in his voice.

Stiles just stares at his father. “I didn't know you could be so devious.”

The sheriff snorts. “Yeah? You think that came from just your mother? Or that she and I didn't learn from each other?”

Both Stilinskis smell briefly of grief, and Derek doesn't know what to say in regard to that. So instead he clears his throat, looks at his father-in-law, and simply says “Well played.”

The sheriff grins at him while Stiles stands and takes all three essentially empty dessert bowls into the kitchen to put in the sink, like he's either trying to flee, or figures it wouldn't hurt to get on his dad's good side for the moment. Or maybe taking the last few bites of ice cream away from his father is all the punishment he can come up with immediately. “A man has to get some joy out of this whole ridiculous set of circumstances.”

He must see the way Derek's face spasms at that, because his expression softens. “I don't mean that as an insult. But you have to know this...thing...is more than a little bit of a shock. My kid isn't even _dating_ anyone, and then I come back from a week-long work training to find out he's married. Stiles and I have had a pretty decent relationship, most of his life, so I'd always figured I'd hear about the person he was considering spending the rest of his life with well before he actually went and hitched himself to them forever.”

“And you didn't figure it'd be someone like me.”

Stiles's dad's face stays neutral. “A werewolf? No, can't say I did.” Before Derek can open his mouth to say something about meaning the surprise of Stiles choosing someone who'd been suspected of murder, someone who wasn't the same age, or even just about the fact that he's a _guy_ , the Sheriff stands, looking like he's heading for the kitchen, where they can both hear Stiles moving around and making what is, for him, a pretty typical amount of noise. “You're a good kid, Derek. This whole thing may have been a bit surprising, but that doesn't change that. And I know, deep down, you really do want to take care of Stiles.” He smiles a little crookedly. “And you know I'm not giving you this much crap just because I'm an asshole.”

“Well, not _just_ for that reason,” Derek says before he can stop himself. He can _feel_ himself go pale.

The sheriff just laughs and claps Derek on the back. “Maybe you and Stiles do fit together better than I'd realized.” He sobers instantly. “But here's a tip: calling your father-in-law—and the sheriff of your hometown—an asshole to his face is probably not something you should be doing regularly.”

Derek stammers out an apology, but the sheriff just smirks and walks away, headed for the couch and TV remote instead of the kitchen after all. After a moment, Derek gets his head around the fact that he's somehow, miraculously, passed the test that was this family dinner, and heads into the kitchen, where Stiles is rinsing dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. He pauses as Derek comes up behind him, looks over his shoulder, and raises his eyebrows. “What's up? You've got a really weird look on your face, dude. Did he threaten you again?”

Derek shakes his head and moves closer, wrapping his arms loosely around Stiles's waist when Stiles turns and steps into his space. “No.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Stiles doesn't even flinch when Derek drops his head, rests his forehead on Stiles's shoulder, and just breathes him in for a second. He smells like warmth and comfort and acceptance and _pack_ and _home_ and it's grounding like nothing else is. Stiles is quiet (which Derek still appreciates as a novelty), just reaching up one hand to cup the back of Derek's neck and run a thumb over the spot behind Derek's ear, at the hinge of his jaw.

Derek stays there for the moment, grateful that Stiles lets him, and just lets himself _be_ for a minute. He can hear the steady beat of Stiles's heart, feel it run through them both, hear the Sheriff muttering at some sports thing on the TV (it sounds like soccer to Derek's ears, but it's really just background noise he doesn't put effort into processing). He can smell Stiles's shampoo and soap and deodorant, the latter two supposedly unscented but still detectable, the aromas of their dinner all around the room, the traces of chocolate and caramel from the ice cream on Stiles's breath. But mostly what he concentrates on is the feeling of contentment he gets from this, the scent of the same from Stiles, and how he's so goddamn willing to trust in this, when he usually can't trust in much of anything. How he's so willing to uproot himself again and move across the state in another two months, just to follow Stiles and be with him.

“You okay there, big guy?” Stiles asks softly when Derek pulls away. “I'm sorry if this whole dinner with my dad thing was too much, especially with the Lydia and Melissa stuff sprung on us.”

Derek shakes his head, allowing himself the small smile that creeps across his mouth, not even bothering to try to force it away like he has for the last several years, like any display of happiness must be hidden before he tempts Fate one too many times and it decides to make him pay for it. “It's okay. I'm fine.” And because Stiles still looks a little skeptical, Derek dips his head and kisses Stiles, something fairly chaste but still sweet, and lets his grin settle into place when Stiles makes a soft noise against his lips. “Really.”

Stiles looks like he wants more, enough to ask for it, but the sheriff appears in the entrance to the kitchen then, eyebrows raised, and they both pull away hastily. Derek flushes guiltily, realizes he's done nothing more than kiss his husband, and tries to drop the embarrassment from his posture and expression. Stiles looks like he's casting about for something to say, but no words come out.

Instead, the sheriff just smirks at them both. “Oh, don't let me stop you. Just came in for a drink.” And whether due to the face Stiles pulls or not, the sheriff grabs a glass and fills it with just tap water before sauntering out of the kitchen and back towards the living room. Derek thinks that's going to be all to the exchange, is about to ask Stiles if he thinks it'd be okay to spend the night at the loft, now that dinner's over without major incident, when the sheriff calls back over his shoulder, the amusement plain in his voice: “If you two are going to get it on, though, at least let an old man fall asleep first. Or put in some ear plugs before you get going.”

Derek chokes a little, but Stiles just lets his head loll back as his cheeks turn bright pink. “Oh my God, Dad, seriously,” he groans, before rolling his eyes and letting his own forehead thud against Derek's collarbone. Out in the living room, the sheriff chuckles. Stiles shakes his head, voice now muffled in Derek's shirt. “Okay, so, how do you feel about your place tonight?”

Derek only nods, lets himself be led out of the house past the sheriff, who waves at them as they walk out the door a couple of minutes later, after Stiles has run back upstairs to pack a quick bag.

He doesn't mention to Stiles that the last thing he hears from his father is the sheriff's pleased-sounding laugh and muttered “well, that tactic was successful. Now where the hell's the rest of the ice cream?” as the two of them walk down the driveway and slide into Derek's car.

There are some secrets Derek is willing to keep, if it means staying in good standing with his father-in-law.


End file.
